Not Now!
by SallyCarefree
Summary: Neal has a bad malaria attack, but the timing is bad. He'd rather run and leave everything behind. Peter has to face his own demons and make up his mind. Will he save his friend and, even more important, finally stop acting like a jerk? (Rethorical question...) First chapter focuses on hurting Neal, second one on both men's emotional turmoil and the last one offers some comfort.
1. Neal

"8 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning, Neal. I'll expect you to show up in the van at The Carlyle. We'll have to wire you up before you'll have breakfast with our suspect."

They were investigating another securities fraud. The CI was acting as a wealthy buyer.

Caffrey had set up a meeting with the securities dealer to discuss business over breakfast. The FBI, of course, would be listening and recording everything.

Peter informed his consultant about the details in a manner-of-fact way. No jokes about feasting on the bureau's expenses or having a partner with expensive taste. Instead, he threw a stern look towards Caffrey. "Don't surprise me. Now is not the time. We need to concentrate on the investigation. Solving this case might be the best way to re-establish our working relationship."

Neal held his handler's gaze; the blue eyes showing exactly the appropriate combination of remorse and eagerness. He didn't overdo it. No, he was a good con knowing that the subtleties of language and countenance made the difference. Therefore, no-one would have noticed that the handsome man felt edgy and jittery.

"Understood. Come rain or shine, I'll be there at 8 a.m. dressed up and well prepared with the details of my alias. Looking forward to it. Let's move on."

Agent Burke was still skeptical but nodded his approval. "I love how we're always on the same page."

Walking home the con men chuckled. He hasn't told a lie. He actually planned to be there well prepared tomorrow morning at 8 a.m... Only, he wouldn't be using the alias the FBI had provided, and 'there' wouldn't be same 'there' Peter expected.

Caffrey appreciated the cold wind outside. He had worked up a sweat; his head was swimming slightly. The cool air made him feel better. Probably, the stress took a toll on him, or he had just caught a cold. It was definitely time to leave this chaos behind.

Since his two miles radius was on hold until further notice, Mozzie came to June's house to deliver the papers together with final instructions.

"At 5 a.m. sharp your tracking data will be switched to an endless loop, so cutting your anklet won't trigger an alert. At 6:45 we're booked on a flight to Mexico. From there, we'll roam the world."

The forged passports were high quality and came with complete alias identities: two accounting clerks from New Jersey going to Mexico for a long weekend of fun, beer, and girls.

Neal sighed while checking the accessories. "Moz, I'm not dyeing my hair blond. This is ridiculous." He threw the plastic bottle in the bin. Usually, he was more casual about his friend's antics. Yet today, he had no patience.

The bald man dissented. "We don't have to like it, but it has to be done. We need to obfuscate the Feds."

The con man wasn't amused. "No way. I'll wear the cheap khaki pants and the ridiculous shirt, but my hair stays as it is. That's it. End of story!"

Caffrey rubbed his forehead while Mozzie was pouting. This discussion was exhausting, giving him a headache. He felt warm again. Therefore, he opened the French door to the roof top terrace.

Later on, when he was on his own again, the con man was still restless and unable to calm down. This was indeed unusual for him. It would have been bad timing if he'd come down with a flu tonight.

Packing his duffel bag was a matter of minutes. He would travel light: a few clothes, travel kit, three books, plus a couple of photos. No valuables. It was a bit sad to leave the macuahuitl behind. He was strangely fond of the Aztec weapon he had taken from a case recently. And which he had stolen 8 years ago - under the radar of agent Burke.

His Devore would remain together with the fedora in the closet. Time to say goodbye to his old life.

Neal chose the most valuable bottle of red wine that was left and uncorked it. Someone had paid twelve thousand dollars for it. Someone else. It has been a gift from Gless for saving his daughter Lindsay who had been held hostage. Fortunately, it has slipped Mozzie's attention so far. The wine was exquisite, but it tasted even better after it was refilled into the Bordeaux bottle Kate had left him.

While sipping the wine, he enjoyed the breathtaking view - even the Chrysler building that had caused him so much trouble when Burke had found the burnt snippet after the explosion of the warehouse.

Feeling uneasy, Neal was unable to sit still. So he paced about the apartment, touching the souvenirs he had collected over the past years while working with Peter. There was a newspaper article about the Timmy Nolan Memorial Park, counterfeited Shakleton whiskey, Sara's business card, a plastic sheriff's star. These items were bringing back sentimental memories. All of a sudden, he felt like a bereaved child suffering a grievous loss.

He was about to leave everything behind that was dear to him. Again. How many times has he done it before? He has abandoned places and people countless times. A bitter thought crossed his mind. What a fool he had been deluding himself that he had finally found himself a home and family.

The soon-to-be fugitive should catch some sleep, having a big day ahead. Though, with his thoughts running round in circles, a throbbing head, muscles unable to relax, Caffrey wasn't able to fall asleep.

Finally, he applied the remedy that never failed to calm him down. Equipped with a large paper sheet and oil crayons, he sat down at the large table. He felt too weary to stand in front of the easel like he usually did when painting. But once the blank sheet of paper was there, he filled it in a frantic rush.

As soon as he had finished drawing, he started to write in the empty spots, pouring out his heart. This would be the farewell letter to his ex-partner. Of course, Burke won't ever have a chance to see this letter. Neal planned to burn it to ashes and flush the ashes down the drain. Still, it was a relieve to clothe his thought in words.

When there was no space left on the paper, eventually, he put down the crayon. Only then, he realized how exhausted he was; his hand shaking, and the whole body in pain. Whereas Neal had been sweating an hour ago, he was now shivering with cold.

Once realization hit him, it hit him hard.

Oh no, not now! Just not now! How could he have missed the signs? He desperately needed medication, or more specifically a medication cocktail.

His last malaria attack had been years ago. Caffrey has been convinced to have finally outgrown the disease, and the guileful parasites have become extinct.

Unfortunately, the pills he needed had a very short shelf life; in addition they needed to be stored at a certain temperature and humidity. You don't keep them in your medicine cabinet like Tylenol or Benadryl.

Those drugs were sold solely at well stocked pharmacies. He knew where to find one and kept the necessary prescription always on hand. Forging prescriptions was usually beneath him. Still, he was very good at it, so no-one would doubt the prescription.

If only he could get to a pharmacy. But because Burke had revoked his radius, leaving his apartment during night time would bring the Marshall's to the scene within minutes.

Since Caffrey knew the course of a malaria attack well from previous relapses, it was obvious there was no time to lose.

Neal reached reluctantly for his phone to call his handler. "Peter, sorry it's late; almost midnight, I know. But, argh, I sort of need help."

The agent listened to the slurred speech, trying to make sense of the incoherent babble and was annoyed. "Caffrey? What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?"

His CI was confused. "Drunk? No, I had two or three glasses of wine. However, I'm not drunk. I need meds from the pharmacy. My anklet, can you call the Marshall's? It won't take long."

Shaken out of his sleep by the call, Peter was in a bad mood already. Listening to this request infuriated him further. "I told you today, no surprises! If you drown your sorrows in drink tonight, you can very well wait until tomorrow morning to pick up some aspirin from a drug store."

Now Neal was almost yelling. "I'm NOT drunk. I told you. I'm sick and need..."

His handler cut him short. "Fine. If you're seriously sick, you'll need to see a doctor, not over-the-counter medicine. I'll call the Marshall's to escort you to the prison infirmary. That's what you want?"

Caffrey declined the offer with clenched teeth.

Burke ended the call panting with rage. "Well then, good night. Don't be late tomorrow morning."

Neal stared at his mobile unable to comprehend the rebuff he had just suffered. That didn't go well. He decided against another attempt to convince his handler.

Mozzie. He could call Mozzie asking him to pick up the drugs. Coming over to June's place to pick up the prescription would take up additional time. However, it was the only feasible solution right now.

The malaria attack grew stronger. Caffrey's head was reeling, and his stomach was in a queasy state. Finding Moz's current contact number caused some difficulties. The paranoid man changed his burner phone every week, and Neal saved the contact details under fancy names.

It took some minutes until, eventually, the con man got his friend on the line. "Moz! Please, can you come over to my place? Something came up."

Unfortunately, Mozzie was caught on the wrong foot, mistaking Neal's motive to call.

"No, no, no. How can you do this to me? You're ditching me and blowing your chance of freedom once again? Has the suit talked you round? You're such a pushover.

Only, I'm not playing along. Not now! Either you'll be at the airport tomorrow morning, or you'll stay in your golden cage. Your decision! But don't expect me to rush to your side to have another heart to heart talk."

The line went dead.

"Moz?" Neal whispered desperately, hoping against hope, that his friend was still there.

The feeling of nausea grew stronger. The sick man stumbled to the bathroom just in time to bring up the twelve thousand Dollar wine. Feeling miserable, trembling, bathed in cold sweat, still sick to the stomach, and with a giant headache he slumped down to the floor.

There was no-one left to call. June was in Atlanta visiting old friends. Sara was several thousand miles away on a different continent. El? He would have laughed if he had been able to. Jones, maybe. But then again, no. He would have called Peter to ask for approval. The same applied for Diana.

Normal people might have called their dad. Yet normal people tend to have normal dads. They might even know where their dads were living. Unfortunately, his own dad was on the run, and apart from that, he was a sleazebag.

That was the foot of the list. No other options left.

Of course, if Matthew Keller wouldn't have been in prison, he might have helped. After all, it had been Matthew who had been with him when he came down with the first malaria attack.

They had planned a diamond heist in Cameroon. The whole operation had been a wild-goose chase right from the beginning. Bad intel, treacherous business partners, and as things turned out, no diamonds at all. The whole thing had been a fata morgana. Nonetheless, they had managed to annoy the local don escaping in the very nick of time using a freight container.

After two weeks aboard, he had run a fever and started to develop the typical symptoms. Keller had managed to buy pills from the crew.

The label on the package was in Arabic. Neither he nor Keller could read it, on top of this it came without instruction leaflet. Still, he drugs had brought down the fever, though the other symptoms remained.

They had disembarked in Tangier where Keller had dragged him to a hospital, then vanished subsequently. You've got to hand it to him that he had left enough money to pay for the treatment, and Neal had survived.

When the con men had left the hospital, he had been convinced that it was all over. But cursed with bad luck, he had caught a rare species of the malaria parasites that caused recurring attacks. The dormant periods lasted month, sometimes years. Just then, out of the blue he came down with another attack.

The second attack had caught him by surprise in Copenhagen. A very unusual place to fall sick with malaria. They couldn't pull the job through; Alex wasn't amused but helped him to a backyard doctor who provided him with the necessary medication. The rest is history. Well, Alex wasn't a viable option to call either.

Neal felt thirsty, though he was too weak to reach the water faucet. A tear was streaming silently down his face.

Why now? He has been on the verge of running, being a free man after all those years.

Instead, his best case scenario at the moment was to be found alive by Peter tomorrow and thereupon to spend the rest of his live in prison. Worst case, on the other hand, was to die alone in this bathroom.

Yet, with a bitter sense of humor he was wondering whether he might have confused best and worst case scenario.

He passed out eventually, sprawled over the floor, a lifeless pile of limbs.

AN:

I hope you'll enjoy my first story this year. Reviews are welcome.

If anyone was wondering why Neal didn't think about calling Rebecca: I guess she's mean and I don't like her, never did and never will like her (until, of course, I'll change my mind someday). Therefore, she's not part of my story.

The next chapter will focus on Peter's pov.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. No copyright infringement intended.


	2. Peter

The next morning at half past 8, it was obvious that Caffrey wouldn't show up. Burke has called him several times leaving increasingly enraged comments on the mailbox. Another 15 minutes later, they called the operation off.

The agents were miffed about all the time they had spent in vain to set up the operation. Now, they could only hope that the suspect hasn't been spooked but would agree to reschedule the meeting. The team headed back to the office while Burke was re-checking the missing consultant's tracking data, cursing under his breath.

He had checked the GPS signal before. It was reassuring to know that the CI was still at home. He had probably overslept as a result of too much wine. That wasn't good per se, though much better as if the consultant would have done a disappearing act.

Staring at the tracking history, the agent noticed a glitch in the curve. At 5 a.m., the GPS signal suddenly had jumped from the bathroom to the bedroom within a split second. This was suspicious, and he decided to drive over. He hoped the unreliable ex-criminal hadn't done something stupid. Not now, when things at the Bureau haven't calmed down completely yet.

Truth be told, there was a bit of guilty conscience involved in the decision making as well. When Neal had called him last night, he hadn't found a sympathetic ear.

Looking back, the agent was aware that he should have allowed the younger man to plead his cause instead of threatening him with prison; or so Elizabeth has thought. She had made no bones about it. _Irresponsible, shameful, miserable moron_ was one of the friendlier names she had called him.

So, when Peter entered the apartment, he wasn't sure what to expect. He checked the bedroom first; then he went on to the bathroom. Seeing his partner sprawled over the floor, scared him out of his wits. "Neal? What's wrong?"

The agent kneeled next to the unconscious man on the floor. Burke noticed Neal's high temperature, the sweat on his skin, and the stale smell of vomit. The agent concluded that his consultant must suffer from a bad go of flu.

So, he carried the younger man over to the bed, made him take a sip of water and put a wet cloth on his forehead.

Afterwards, he had a close look at the apartment. It took him only moments to put one and one together. The duffel bag together with the false passport made a clear statement. Neal had wanted to run; if he hadn't fallen sick, he probably would've been sitting on a remote beach right now drinking a fancy cocktail.

That bastard! Guilty people do guilty things...

Peter slumped into the chair in the kitchen. Thinking about the the necessary next steps to take, he scanned the things on the tabletop absentmindedly. Crayons, sheets of paper, and a painting or rather a storyboard. The latter aroused his interest enough to examine it more closely.

There were lots of small sketches showing mostly himself with Neal in different situations. There was no chronological order given; the scenes were arranged rather randomly. The agent remembered all those meaningful moments, starting years back when Neal had given him the candy in front of a bank long before both of them had become partners.

But from all the impressive snapshots, one stood out by size, attention to detail, and closeness to reality. It portrayed himself yelling at Neal right here in this apartment a few weeks ago, '_Shame on me for expecting anything else'._ Seeing the distinctive look of disdain and disappointment on his own face made Peter wince.

He recognized that look, remembered it so well. Only, he has never expected to find it plastered on his own face. He had come to loathe that look on his father's face when he was growing up.

Peter's father has loved his son dearly, he still did in fact, but he has been unable to understand his offspring's attitude to life or comprehend the decisions he has made to shape his life.

The teenager had been greeted that look when he had told his dad proudly about his college plans – whereas, his dad had expected him to pursue a profession in the construction industry.

The disappointment he had shown after had Peter ended his baseball career had been even greater. Later on, Burke senior couldn't understand at all why someone, graduating from college summa cum laude, would pursue a career at the FBI instead of earning big bucks on Wall Street - wasting all the time and money he had invested in his education.

The agent remembered very vividly how much this look had hurt him; the frustration it had caused him. He has loved his father and knew his father has loved him, too. Even so, the hurt wasn't lessened by that knowledge.

Nowadays, when Peter spent time with his old man, he tried to concentrate on the few things they had in common, like baseball. It was easier when El was around; furthermore, he had learned over the years to evade critical topics.

But still, that look was like a stab in the heart. And to this day, he was yearning for his father's recognition or a bit of praise.

How could that look have possibly found its way on his own face? He'd never wanted to be like that. Never ever.

Thereupon, he started to read the scribbles on the sheet.

I need to get away  
I've got to find a place to be myself  
I've had enough of this  
I want to find a place where people care for me or at least don't put me down when I need them  
I thought you said that we were like family - and I thought so, too  
Sorry to disappoint you over and over again  
It seems I'm just a criminal, unable and unwilling to change  
It might sound silly, but you're the cause of this  
I wouldn't have worked for Hagen if it hadn't been for you  
Trading in my integrity for your freedom might not be a choice you approve, though the only one I had  
I must admit I liked working with you, being your friend, sharing your live, having fun, take up the challenge  
But that's all over now  
It's time to run before I start to see myself as a failure.

This might not have been Shakespearean language. However, the simplicity and bluntness didn't fail to have the desired effect.

Neal's handler suddenly realized how self-righteous and arrogant he had been. Letting down a friend who had tried to help him. Caffrey has gone the long road of good intentions; the road that finally has led him back to crime and deception. But his only purpose on this way has been to save Peter Burke's neck; he had even risked his own freedom along the way.

Dispite Peter's lack of faith in his CI, named CI has gone out his way to save him; no-one has ever done more for him.

Granted, Burke had been disappointed that the ex-criminal has gone back to this trade. But frankly, that hypocritical accusation has been a smoke screen for another disappointment.

It had been his own choice to work with Neal, his choice to make friends with him, his choice to help him clear James Bennett's name, his choice to wear the anklet in the Empire State Building and draw outside the lines.

If someone has to be blamed that his career went south and he even got arrested, that someone would have been Peter Burke, apart from James Bennett, of course.

The no-nonsense agent has been disappointed that it hadn't been his own impeccability or law-abiding mastermind that got him off the hook; instead the con skills of an ex-criminal were needed.

Thinking about the pride he had felt being announced as ASAC, he deserved it, didn't he? Come on, he must not delude himself. To reach the high success rate in clearing cases, Burke had used Caffrey to find loop holes, work around the law, not breaking it yet using the grey areas. But what was Caffrey's benefit from the deal, apart from a nice view, a closet full of elegant suits and a two mile radius?

Oh damn it, not a very nice self-portrait if you were willing to look at it this way.

Peter sighed, folded the sheet and pocketed it as well as the passport. He wouldn't turn Neal in. They had to find a way out of this dilemma somehow.

Just when Burke had started calling his wife to ask for advice on flu treatment, Neal had a seizure. His body was shaking rapidly and uncontrollably. This was downright frightening.

His handler rushed over to the bed trying to prevent the unconscious patient from biting his tongue.

Concentrating on the convulsing man, Peter was unaware of everything else going on. So he didn't notice the door to the apartment sliding open. He startled up when someone yelled at him and grabbed his shoulder. "Suit, what are you doing to him? Trying to kill him finally?"

"Mozzie, I have no idea what's wrong with him. Help me! I certainly don't try to kill him." The FBI agent was annoyed at the mere thought.

It didn't take Mozzie long to recognize the symptoms as signs of malaria.

Right now, he was glad that he hasn't taken the plane as he had intended to. At the very last minute, he had decided Mexico could wait and left the airport. At the time, Moz had been still boiling over with rage and had not been in a mood to visit that turncoat of a friend.

But after a while, the criminal has had second thoughts regarding Neal's call at night just like his arch rival, the FBI agent, has had.

Peter was surprised to learn Caffrey had a malaria attack. "Malaria? Seriously? We're in New York, it's springtime. I've never heard of anyone catching malaria in Manhattan."

Mozzie sorted things out. "No, it's a recurring disease. He gets those attacks every now and then. Although, the last one has been years ago, so we thought it's over and done. He needs medication. Fortunately, I know there are some exquisitely forged prescriptions hidden here in the room. We only have to find them, fill in the date and pick them up. In a couple of days Neal should be fine."

The agent was completely taken aback. Looking at the pale, sweating man, who has just had a seizure and was still not responsive, was enough to know this suggestion was ridiculous.

"Wait, I won't ask why I don't know anything about this disease, or where he has caught it. Probably better for my night's sleep if I don't know the story behind it. However, you can't expect me to feed an unconscious man with a pill cocktail based on a homemade prescription. This man needs to see a doctor who's specialized in tropical diseases. And we don't have any time to waste. Let's call an ambulance to get him to the Presbyterian Hospital."

Burke called the ambulance first and then the Marshall's to adjust the radius. While they were waiting for the paramedics, he was holding his friend, cooling his head with a wet cloth, brushing the damp hair out of his face. He didn't know much about malaria, but hoped fervently that his partner would recover.

Whereas Mozzie disposed of the duffel bag and tried to hide the macuahuitl. He had no idea whether the suit intended to arrest Neal. Since the agent was no fool, he was probably aware that his charge has planned to run. Though, sometimes the agent surprised him. Just in case he might be willing to turn a blind eye, they'd rather leave no evidence behind.

* * *

AN:  
Thank you all for reading, reviewing and following this story. I love your feed back.


	3. Friends

After waking up, Neal tried to recollect the events of the past night. He had no idea how he had ended up in hospital. As far as he was concerned, he should be still in his bathroom. Someone must have found him there and must have decided that it was worth a try to save him.

Caffrey looked around to make out the facts. A fluid was dripping out of an IV bag into his arm. The walls were painted in a friendly yellow color and had windows without bars. The name tag around his arm labeled him as a patient of the New York Presbyterian Hospital. So now he had not only an anklet but a bracelet as well...

So far, so good. Maybe, he should count his blessings:

1. He was alive

2. He felt alive

3. He was in a nice hospital and not in a nasty prison infirmary

No. 3 might change in the short term. If his handler has come to his apartment, he'll have figured out this has been an attempted escape.

Speaking of the devil ... The door opened, and a tired looking Peter Burke entered with a cup of coffee. The agent was surprised to find the patient awake. "Hey, you must have just woken up? Always an overachiever! The doctors said it might take 10 to 14 hours until you come round."

Neal still tried to connect the dots. "How long have I been out?"

His handler shrugged. "No idea. I found you around 9:30 this morning. At that time, you've been unconscious for quite a while, but I don't know how long exactly. It's almost 6 in the evening now. It was a bit of a shock to see you knocked out on the floor. Why can't guys like you just have a normal flu? Seriously, malaria?"

So it has been Burke who has found him. Caffrey gathered the bits of information together. "How did you know it's malaria instead of just a flu?"

"Frankly, I thought it's the flu until you've had a seizure. This was pretty terrifying, by the way. Then Mozzie showed up and diagnosed malaria. For once, I was glad for his appearance."

So Moz hasn't left the country either. "Is he around? Mozzie, I mean."

The agent rolled his eyes. "No. Although, he has been here. Disguised as a doctor, of course. He's really paranoid, you know that? You have to sign some forms to enter the tropical disease ward, and he didn't want to be in the system. "

The sick consultant apprehended that his handler had been with him in hospital all day. Presumably, to ensure that he wouldn't take flight. What other reason should he have to waste a full work day?

Peter kept on talking. "So he showed up in scrubs wearing a surgical mask. Reading his name tag, I had to send him home. Doogie Houser M.D.! Really, can't you talk him out of these dramatics?"

Neal chuckled, but then he realized it made no sense to put off the unpleasant task ahead. "In my apartment, I assume that you've seen ... things."

"If you've referred to the false passport, your packed getaway bag, and a stack of Mexican pesos, then you'll be right." The agent was lost for words, clueless how to clear up this mess. He had hoped to put off the unpleasant talk a bit longer. Or maybe skip the talk completely and settle for a friendly slap on the back.

Finally, he went on. "Listen, I don't know what to say. I'm awfully sorry. I hate to state the obvious, but I shouldn't ..."

The sick consultant lied back in his bed and tuned out. He knew by heart what his handler was about to tell him. Bottom line was he would be sent back to prison. He has drawn the Go-To-Jail-card. Therefore, it was needless to listen to the sermon. While Burke went on with his speech, only some key words made his way to Caffrey's mind. Enough to validate his assumptions.

_"... blame you ... jerk ... failed miserably ... sorry ... disappointed ... you're a criminal ... prison, wearing an orange jumpsuit ... believe in justice ... hard for me ... your ways around the law ... arrest ... son of a bitch."_

Peter had spoken almost without breathing in between. Now he looked at Neal expectantly.

Caffrey decided to make the best of it, slapping on a smile. Only his eyes couldn't conceal the pain and fear. he felt. "Will you come to visit me? You see, it's pretty boring in there. Maybe you could convince Elizabeth to bake a cake. You know I love her chocolate tarte. And you could smuggle in some decent coffee."

Burke stared at him dumbfounded. "You haven't listened to anything I've just said, have you?"

The consultant tried to remain calm. Even though, it was getting harder by the minute. "I've heard enough."

Now, his handler got upset. "I don't think so. Why don't you ever listen to me? I guess I have to repeat my apology then. Now, please, do me a favor and listen carefully this time."

Apparently, this has excited Neal's curiosity enough to actually follow Peter's biding.

Word by word, the agent repeated his speech. "I'm awfully sorry. I hate to state the obvious, but I shouldn't ... but I shouldn't have been such a pain in the backside. I shouldn't have blamed you for trying to help me.

Probably, you were right calling me Burke the jerk. I've failed miserably as a friend and I'm sorry that I have disappointed you across the board.

I've known from the start that you're a criminal; probably some part of you will always remain criminal. I should have accepted that and rather acknowledged your will to change, and the achievements you've made.

I haven't been fair with you.

Most certainly, I would be still in prison, wearing an orange jumpsuit, without you. I've always believed in justice, but I doubt that I had been acquitted of the charge if James' confession wouldn't have turned up. It's hard for me to admit that your ways around the law might have been my last resort.

Thank you for coming to my rescue. We'll still have to bring down Hagen and arrest him, of course/ We can't let him get away with it. I'll need your help to do this. Therefore, I do hope that you're able to forgive me. If that's ok with you, let's arrest that son of a bitch."

This time, Burke has spoken slowly, making sure that the message hit home.

Finally, he asked his CI, "Did you understand me this time?"

There was an arch smile on Caffrey's face. "Yeah, bits and pieces. But my hearing might be impaired. Could you please repeat the part with you failing miserably and me being your last resort? I might have missed some of the details."

His handler groaned. "Smart aleck."

Neal smiled, though he wasn't convinced yet, still needing confirmation. "All jesting aside, do you really mean it?"

Brown eyes met blue ones when Peter affirmed his statement. "Yes, I mean it with all my heart. I am sorry. Really, awfully, dreadfully sorry."

He paused, but after a while he went on. "Furthermore, my wife told me in no uncertain terms that I have to sleep in the attic until I apologize and make good the damage. To quote my smart wife, hell would rather freeze over before I would be back on her good side without righting the wrong first."

El had more or less urged the ex-criminal to free her husband by whatever means. But you'd have to respect that she didn't feign innocence or cooked up an excuse for her deeds. So, Neal replied with slight amusement. "You've really married a smart wife. I respect that. Though, she can be a bit scary at times, too."

Peter nodded his consent, and Neal remembered another embarrassing detail. "In my apartment, apart from the other stuff, I've written a sentimental letter, have you seen it?"

His handler seemed to be uncomprehending. "I don't interfere in your love life. Way too complicated for me. If you misplace a love letter, it'll be your problem. Probably, you have to write another poem for your lady."

"I don't have a complicated love live. I don't have a love life at all. The anklet, you remember?" But the world's best con artist wasn't distracted so easily. "You haven't answered my question. Have you seen the letter?"

"Maybe I have, maybe not. Never admit anything was good advice I've been given once. Although, I'd be willing to answer your question if you tell me first why there was a macuahuitl in your room - which had a striking resemblance to one that went missing recently."

Neal decided to change the subject. "The weather is really nice outside, isn't it?"

Peter smirked. "I've known that you've taken it."

The culprit didn't show any remorse. "I know that you've known it."

His handler chuckled. "I know that you've known that I've known it. But I wasn't talking about that casual theft some weeks ago. I was talking about 8 years ago."

"Oh!"

Peter threw him a questioning look. "Are we good?"

And his friend agreed "Yes, we're good."

* * *

AN:

I really, really hope that Peter and Neal will get back to being friends. Let's hope for Thursday, fellow White Collar addicts.

So, my story is complete. Thanks for reading and all your lovely comments. Writing wouldn't be half as fun without them. Fortunately, reviews don't have calories. Otherwise, I would have to spend much more time doing workouts.


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